


Suck It

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [51]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: AND WENT WITH IT, F/M, I apologize for nothing, Popsicles, and a brief moment of sexual fantasy, cherry is the superior flavor, fite me, i got this idea in approximately two seconds, the t rating is only for the mention of deepthroating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 05:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19784353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: You and Piotr beat the heat.Well, you do. By making a fire in your boyfriend's pants.I refuse to apologize for writing this.(Set after "Moving In" and before "Rubber Meets Road."[All warnings in the tags, but be advised: this is incredibly stupid.]





	Suck It

This has to be the single best idea you’ve ever had.

Or maybe the worst. It might be that.

Especially considering that it came to you in less than two seconds. Most of your “spur of the moment” ideas have a nasty habit of backfiring.

It’s currently the middle of summer. Even better, it’s currently the middle of a heat wave. You’ve taken to sleeping buck ass naked at night because it’s so hot –which has had a delightful array of side-effects, since you share a room with Piotr and he is very appreciative of your choices to forgo pajamas altogether.

Unfortunately, it’s the middle of the day right now –and you’re on “babysitting” duty with your darling boyfriend and a handful of other adult residents, so going _au natural_ is _not_ an option.

You are, however, dressed in the shortest pair of shorts you own –that are still appropriate for being around kids, you’re not looking to scar any young minds today—and a tank top, which don’t do much to help but do net several appreciative glances from your beefy boyfriend, which is always nice.

Except it just makes your current situation all the more frustrating, because all you want right now is to _not_ be wearing the shorts or the tank top and dive into an ice cold shower with Piotr – _ooh_ , and have him hold you against one of the tile walls, the cool ceramic would feel so good against your sweaty back, and then you’d be kissing him, clinging to him while he thrusts his cock into you, gasping and begging to cum while he—

_Anyway_. Back to the point.

Good idea. Bad idea.

_Popsicles._

The freezers had been thoroughly stocked with all sorts of frozen confections and treats –and frozen fruit, because _Piotr_ —in preparation for the imminent heat wave.

Suffering is unbearable, but suffering with mass produced ice cream dribbling down your fingers is slightly less so.

Except you’re aiming for popsicles because: A.) they’re delicious, and B.) you desperately want to figure out if you can deepthroat one and make Piotr’s face go as red as the “X” on his mission uniform.

Call it practice.

(Who knows? It just might land you that cold shower fantasy that much faster.)

You dole out cold treats to the kids first, then snag a cherry popsicle before depositing the box back in the freezer (you contemplate crawling in there with the box, but think better of it and close the door). “Ugh. It’s disgustingly hot today.”

“We should get rain in few days,” Piotr says, eating frozen blueberries out of a small bowl. He’s armored down to avoid scorching anyone with his armor, which means you get the lovely privilege of seeing his shoulders and arms in full, glorious view since he’s also opted to go sleeveless in lieu of the heatwave. “Things should cool down then.”

“Or they won’t and everything will turn into a muggy, hot nightmare,” you grumble.

“Have faith, _myshka_. Things will get better soon.”

“We can only hope,” you say amicably as you unwrap your popsicle.

“Agreed. You should drink some water also, _moya lyubov’_ ,” he adds, forehead creasing slightly with worry. “Sugar syrup is very dehydrating.”

“Already did, big guy.” You wink at him. “Drank two glasses before I handed out the treats to the kids.”

He smiles. “Very good. Thank you, _myshka_.”

“Of course.”

And then you dive in.

You start by innocently licking at the sides of the popsicle. It’s kinda fun; your tongue keeps sticking to the sides because the popsicle is _that cold_. All the fun of licking a flagpole in the middle of winter without the trauma-induced memory repression.

Piotr watches you, expression bemused. “I am not sure that is most efficient way to eat, _myshka_.”

“I know. It just needs to warm up a little first so my tongue doesn’t stick to it.” You grin and tap the side of your head. “I’m not as stupid as a look, Piotr. There is method to my madness.”

“ _Konechno_ –though I would say you are not stupid at all.”

You smile sweetly and lower your eyes. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

The popsicle, unsurprisingly, warms up quickly. Between the heat, the heat, and the heat, you’re surprised it hasn’t completely melted into a puddle of colored liquid already.

But it hasn’t, which is good for you and your good-bad idea.

You start off by wrapping your lips around the tip of the popsicle and swirling your tongue around it. The cherry flavor is kind of lackluster, but it’s cold and refreshing and you aren’t about to picky right now.

“You know—” You release the popsicle with a wet _pop_ and lick the excess juice off your lips for good measure. “We should go to the chocolate shop this week, since they make their own ice cream.”

Piotr smiles and pops another blueberry into his mouth. “That does sound like good idea.”

You point your popsicle at him. “Hey, I’ll have you know I’m full of those.”

“I never doubted, _myshka_.”

You grin, then lift the popsicle back to your mouth and get to work. You take it about halfway into your mouth and bob your head a little, flexing the muscles around your mouth so your cheeks hollow out a little. You let out a soft moan, as though you’re appreciating the flavor, then release the popsicle once more with a wet sucking noise. “Oh, we should hit the pool once the kids go to bed, too. I could stand to work on my swimming.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d say your efforts were having no effect on Piotr –except the tips of his ears are starting to turn pink, which is a dead giveaway that he’s _paying attention_ , as it were. “Is that so?”

“Hey, it’s good exercise and it’s a practical skill to have.” You duck your head so you can lick a little trickle of popsicle juice off your wrist; you shoot an “innocent” glance at Piotr, relishing the way he gasps softly and his pupil dilate. “That, and it’ll keep us cool without either of us having to spend money. I thought you’d be all over that.”

He ducks his head and grins –and his ears are definitely turning red now. “It might be good idea.”

“‘ _Might be_?’” You place the hand that isn’t holding your popsicle, aka Weapon of Mass-Boner-Inducement, against your chest and feign hurt. “I thought you said I was full of good ideas!”

Piotr chuckles –his cheeks are starting to catch up with his ears now—and winks at you. “My faith in you is strong as ever, _myshka_.”

“I certainly hope so!”

And then you go in for the kill.

In your favor is that the popsicle is _miles_ shorter than Piotr’s dick –and _you_ would _know_ —which makes deepthroating the thing that much easier.

You suck the thing all the way in until you can close your lips around the little wood stick, then let your eyelids flutter shut and let out an appreciative moan.

You can hear the way Piotr’s teeth click together and the strangled breath he lets out. “ _Myshka_ —”

You open your eyes and hum at him while you push the popsicle back and forth in your mouth. You’re careful to not make too much eye contact with him –the trick in these situations is to make everything look completely unplanned.

Piotr’s face is bordering on bright red, and it looks like the flush is starting to creep down his neck, too.

_Good_.

His eyes are wide as he watches you, and it takes him a couple tries of clearing his throat before he can speak. “ _Dorogoy,_ I think you best stop.”

You feign confusion, “hmm-ing” a little before pulling the popsicle out of your mouth with a wet _schlock_ and offering it to him. “Do you want some, honey?” You smack your lips for good measure.

Piotr just stares at you, gaze burning, then stalks out of the room while muttering under his breath in Russian.

You quirk your mouth to the side, shrug, then go back to your popsicle. It’s well on the way to melting now, and since Piotr isn’t biting, you may as well finish it off. You suck the remaining ice slush off the stick –which isn’t nearly as appetizing as one might think—and swallow it down.

Not what you wanted to be swallowing, either, but a girl makes do.

You twirl the red-stained stick between your fingers, then stop and peer down at the little piece of wood when you realize that words are printed on one side of the stick. “Hey!” you say cheerfully as Piotr strides back into the kitchen. “They have jokes printed on these! Here: what did the envelope say to the stamp—”

He cuts you off with a passionate, bruising kiss, then slings you over his shoulder before you can react.

You brace yourself against his back, confused but not complaining. “Babe, what’re you doing? Where are we going?”

“Our room,” he growls, voice thick with arousal.

You blink, then giggle and let yourself go loose in his grasp as he takes the stairs two steps at a time.

Shower time is coming –in more ways than one.

**Author's Note:**

> Laugh at my jokes, dammit.


End file.
